


Stolen Dance

by EvieFuller



Series: Half-Baked Ideas. [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dimension Travel, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14392854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvieFuller/pseuds/EvieFuller
Summary: Tom Riddle could admit, if only to himself, that he was desperately lonely. But, never one to just sit around and wait for a solution to fall into his lap, Tom decides to summon his perfect match instead. Enter one very confused, dimension hopping Hari Potter.





	Stolen Dance

Tom Riddle stared at the ritual circle with dark eyes, checking one final time for errors. This summoning had to work.

The handsome sixth year prefect wasn’t usually one for introspection, but in a rare moment of honest self-reflection he had admitted to himself that he was lonely, not that he would ever say it out loud. 

It wasn’t surprising really. While it filled him with a huge amount of satisfaction to see all of those rich pureblood brats who had so disdained him for the first three years of his magical education grovel for his attention, there was no true companionship with his so called friends. They were all beneath Tom: less charming, less intelligent, less powerful, less curious, less driven. Just less. And Tom longed for a match, for someone who would be his equal, for someone who would be both a challenge and a loyal partner. 

Hence the ritual.

The fact that he was lonely, of all sentimental things, had infuriated Tom, but the feeling wasn’t about to go away just because it frustrated him. But Tom wasn’t the type to just sit around and wait on some knight in shining armor, as it were, to come along and fill this aching hole. No, Tom would bring this person to him. 

Magic was capable of so much more than any of the nearsighted hangers-on he hung out with ever gave it credit for. This ritual—which Tom had found and modified at the tail end of his fifth year after nearly a month of searching in the restricted section of the library—would allow his magic to reach out across space, time, and even dimensions to find a soul that would match his own perfectly. Find it and transport it to him. 

Tom honestly wasn’t sure whether he hoped whoever was summoned would be from his own world or not. On the one hand, yanking his person from their home world was probably not the most illustrious beginning to their relationship. On the other hand, if his person was from another dimension, then he or she would be trapped with Tom forever, something that pleased the possessiveness he was already feeling towards this hypothetical individual. 

Yes, he was leaning towards hoping the ritual would call someone from another realm. After all, everything he had read said it would be impossible to locate the original world again as there were just too many possible universes to pinpoint one amongst billions without an anchor. Plus, without someone on the other end acting as a guide, any return trip would almost certainly prove deadly.

For the purposes of this ritual, Tom was both guide and anchor. At each of the four cardinal points of the runic circle he had four powerful sacrifices set to be burned in a clockwise order.   
To the north lay a bound centaur, struggling futilely against the ropes tying the chestnut half-man, half-horse to the ground. The centaur represented divination and destiny. 

To the east lay a redheaded, silver scaled mermaid, bound to a stake and glaring at Tom furiously. She represented temptation and mystery. 

To the south lay a cursing sphinx, perhaps the most dangerous of the lot. The lion woman represented challenge and intelligence. 

And finally, to the west lay a young male fairy who looked to be trying to talk his way out of the situation despite the silencing charm, sly words typically a fairy’s best defense. He represented cunning, trickery, and truth. 

Tom had had a devil of a time capturing his four sacrifices, not to mention keeping them caged and secret until he was ready to perform the ritual. Tonight was the night of the Yule celebrations, the Winter Solstice, a powerful time for renewal and new beginnings. It was the perfect occasion to perform this ritual as the magic of the solstice should boost the summoning beyond what Tom’s own magic and the sacrifices alone were capable of, but utilizing that boost had required months of impatient waiting.

With a steadying breath, Tom knocked back a vial of 7 phoenix tears and began carving the necessary runes into his own flesh. One on his left wrist for connection, one on his right wrist for life, and one over his heart for love (a rune he had despaired at the requirement of but used nonetheless). Then he began chanting, slightly shocked at the immediate pull he felt on his magic.

The blood dripping from his wrists and chest hit the ground and began to snake along the northern line of the cross bisecting the runic circle, heading straight for the chestnut centaur. The half-horse’s struggles intensified as he tried to avoid the bright red blood, but it was in vain. As soon as the crimson liquid contacted his heaving side, the centaur ignited in a burst of searing hot red and gold flames. 

With the creature’s death, Tom felt a giant swell of power rush into him, so potent it nearly brought Tom to his knees. With difficulty, he kept chanting, and the blood moved along the outer edge of the circle towards the mermaid, whose glaring had changed to wide eyed panic. Fire consumed her, and Tom was driven into a kneeling position, panting.

The sphinx burned moments later, and Tom felt like he was burning with her, energy rushing under his skin. Never had he felt such power, so much he could burst with it. It was pain and euphoria and heady invincibility. 

Finally, the young fairy was incinerated, and crimson trails of blood converged on Tom from the four sacrificial points. The moment the life blood touched him, the handsome sixth year stopped chanting, his magic ripping from him to pass through space, time and dimensions. Searching. 

There. In a realm so similar and yet so fundamentally different from his own, there she was: Tom Riddle’s equal. 

His magic wrapped around her, an indomitable force pulling her from her mundane task, back across time and dimensions to the guiding anchor that was Tom. Harisah Potter barely had the opportunity to panic before the ritual yanked her away from her studies with nothing but the clothes on her back and the wand tucked behind her ear. 

A hole opened in the fabric of the universe before Tom, who was still kneeling in the dirt of the warded clearing deep within the Forbidden Forest, and what looked to be a sixteen-year-old witch was deposited in a heap before him. 

She was a pretty thing from what Tom could see in the silvery light of the moon. Wild raven tresses, a petite frame, and a lovely face which was currently scrunched up in pain. With a groan, she rolled up onto her knees, clutching her obviously aching head, and finally opened her eyes to look directly at Tom. He was struck speechless, mesmerized by her bright green eyes which were easily her best feature. 

Those same orbs that Tom was lost staring at grew wide with what looked to be fear and surprise, and the girl scrambled to her feet, snatching her wand from behind her ear and pointing it at him threateningly.

"Riddle!" she hissed, defiance lighting her features. Her eyes were rapidly scanning their surroundings, clearly looking for a viable escape route, but her attention never wavered from his form.

Tom stumbled to his feet, still dizzy from the ritual, and held his hands out placatingly. His wand, just like all of his other possessions aside from the vial that had held the phoenix tears and the ritual dagger, was sitting in a neat pile outside of the runic circle. He was standing before an obviously dangerous and angry witch completely naked and unarmed. Internally, he cursed himself for not anticipating this. Of course any match of his would come out fighting. He just thanked the stars she hadn’t cursed him yet. 

"You know me?" he asked cautiously.

She graced him with a look of pure disbelief, as though she thought he was addled in the head. It was not an expression Tom was used to seeing directed at him, but at least his question seemed to befuddle her enough to halt the spell she had clearly been about to shoot at him. 

"I never took you as the type to have a sense of humor Tom," she spit, and threw a purple cutting hex at him. A 'yes' then, and apparently the time for talking was over. This introduction was going swimmingly. 

Tom leapt to the side, diving for his own beloved yew wand. In the couple of seconds it took him to get his hand around the piece of wood, the girl managed to fire off three more cutting hexes. One connected deeply with his left leg just above his knee, slicing nearly to the bone, and another just grazed his left bicep. The third went slightly wide, and Tom managed to erect a shield charm, wincing as an overpowered expelliarmus slammed into the protective magical wall. Tom had never dueled someone capable of putting so much power behind a spell before, and for a moment he feared his shield would fall. 

But the shield held, and Tom tried to limp backwards as the witch advanced on him, not letting up for an instant. He batted away shockingly strong curse after curse desperately, trying to find a way to end this fight without resorting to anything that would permanently injure this girl. His movements were hampered by the deep cut in his left leg, but luckily the phoenix tears he had ingested for the ritual were still running through Tom’s system, healing his wounds quickly. Unluckily, the witch attacking him was an absolute force of nature. 

Beneath his slight panic, Tom felt a sense of smugness that this was his match. She was absolutely stunning in her ferocity. 

Tom ducked behind a tree for cover and called out, "You obviously think you know me! But—" A blast of fire exploded against the tree, searing hot streams of flame flowing past him on either side. "But! I don’t know who you are. Whoever you think I am—" Another burst of flames hit the tree, and Tom darted behind a new trunk. Not a moment too soon, as the next wave of heat exploded his previous shelter.

Tom needed to get her to stop and listen. Exhausted as he was from the ritual, there was no way he could win this fight, not without resorting to some incredibly dangerous dark magic (though he wasn’t really confident even that would work). And Tom didn’t want to hurt this girl. He’d summoned her so he would have an interesting companion. Interesting she was definitely proving to be. The companion part would only come if he could get her to stop trying to kill him however, and without maiming her. 

"Look! You’re not from this world—" he yelped as a flaming whip started to wrap around his already injured leg and quickly cast a counter, turning the whip into a snake and hissing at it to try to restrain the witch. That fire had come far too close to his groin for comfort. 

"I summoned you from another dimension!" he tried again, breathing a sigh of relief when her spells ceased for the first time. 

"What’re you playing at Riddle?" she yelled, sounding both confused and angry.

"I performed a ritual to summon my equal from another world. It brought me you." A highly abbreviated explanation, but Tom didn’t want to test the girl’s patience. 

"You know the prophesy then?" she asked with a hard note of resignation. 

"What prophesy?" he questioned, wondering if they were more connected than he could have originally guessed. When all he received in response was the feeling of building magic, he rushed to continue, "No, just listen. You are on another world. Whoever it is you think I am, my counterpart in your world maybe, we’re not the same person!" 

"Different?" she scoffed. "You look about sixteen. Are you saying you haven’t opened the Chamber of Secrets and terrorized the school with your bloody basilisk? Never tried to get rid of all the muggleborns?"

"What? No! I haven’t set a basilisk on anyone." For once, Tom was glad he’d decided to postpone that particular experiment. Obviously, the Tom Riddle of her world hadn’t been so cautious, and his equal was clearly unimpressed with his counterpart’s actions.

Tom dared to peek around the edge of the tree he was hiding behind to look at the girl’s scowling face. When she didn’t immediately attempt to hex him, he pushed a little further away from his shelter, though still close enough to dive for cover easily. 

As the witch’s eyes trailed over him, she seemed to notice Tom’s nude state for the first time, and a dark blush rose to stain her cheeks. "You expect me to believe that?" She snarled, staring him resolutely in the face, though Tom could tell she was fighting the urge to either look away in embarrassment or to look down in curiosity. 

He smirked slightly. "It’s the truth."

"Why’d you summon me then?"

Here it was Tom’s turn to blush. "I wanted an equal, someone who could match me. All of my friends," he sneered at the label, "are boring."

"You performed a ritual to summon me because you wanted a friend? Wait, were you actually lonely?" Pure disbelief colored her tone.

"No, I wasn’t lonely. I was bored," he stressed tersely. Tom was aware that his answers were probably giving away more than he desired, but he wasn’t about to actually verbally confirm such sentiment. Especially not in the face of the girl’s astonishment. 

Tom considered her still tense posture before asking lightly, "If I conjure myself some clothes, are you going to try to blow me up again?" The robes he had worn out here originally were no more than a pile of ash at this point. 

Her eyes zeroed in on his wand warily, but she still inclined her head and muttered a soft "Please."

"What’s your name?" he asked as he pulled a freshly made pair of pants over his hips. 

She looked like she was honestly considering not answering him before she sighed and said, "Harisah Potter, but I prefer Hari." 

"Harisah," he breathed, tasting the feel of it leaving his mouth. "It means 'guardian,' no?"

"Hari," she emphasized. "And how the bloody Hell do you even know that?"

"I’ve spent a lot of time looking up names and their meanings," he shrugged, downplaying his obsession with finding something more illustrious than 'Tom' to go by. 

She seemed slightly bemused by his answer, but also noticeably less tense. Not relaxed, but Tom didn’t think she would just start casting away again either. Her robes denoted her as a Gryffindor, so she would probably be too noble to curse him first now that it looked like there was a truce between them. Hopefully.

"Can we sit?" he gestured towards two blackened logs. 

Thankfully, she nodded, and Tom almost moaned in relief at getting off his aching leg. 

"So you summoned me here because you didn’t have any real friends?" She seemed almost amused by the idea.

"Yes," he glared uncomfortably. "You are my equal."

"How does that work exactly?"

"The ritual, it allowed my magic to reach across time, space, and dimensions to find a soul that could match mine perfectly, and bring it to me." 

"Your soulmate?" She cocked an incredulous eyebrow. 

"Nothing so trivial," he denied instantly. "We’re not some star-crossed, soppy love story. We’re a match, destined to be either the greatest of partnerships or the bitterest of rivals."

"And you think we’re destined to be great partners?" 

"You think we must be enemies?" he countered. Tom wasn’t going to tell her just how determined he was to make this relationship work. He’d had enough people look at him with hate. He didn’t particularly care if Harisah came to love him, but he wanted to be the undeniable center of her universe. He’d settle for nothing less. 

Hari quirked a wry smile. "Our history would tend to indicate that, yes."

"Our history?" 

"You murdered my parents," she stated bluntly. "When I was one. Tried to kill me too."

Tom’s rust brown eyes widened. He wasn’t sure how to handle that statement. He didn’t have any particular moral compunction against killing, as evidenced by his sacrifice of four sentient beings just this night, but this background would certainly hinder his efforts with his Hari. "That wasn’t me. It was a different world. I don’t ever have to kill the Potters here."

"Well that may be true. But all that aside, we’re from different dimensions, as you’ve said repeatedly. I don’t belong here. Send me back."

"I can’t." Tom had to fight to keep the pleased smirk off his face. 

"What do you mean, you can’t? Did you not bother to research the reverse ritual?" Hari was trying to sound derisive, but Tom could see the panic starting to creep into her beautiful green eyes. 

"No, I researched it. The summoning is permanent."

"I don’t believe you!" Hari leapt to her feet, jabbing her wand at Tom threateningly. "Send me back home."

Outwardly, Tom knew he looked impassive. Calm. But he was coiled tight, ready to throw up a shield at a moment’s notice if Hari lost her temper and decided to try to kill him again. 

"I meant it when I said I can’t. Even if we could locate your exact world out of the billions of possibilities, which we can’t, but even if we could, there’s no anchor or guide in your home universe. Any attempt to send you back would kill you. If you don’t believe me, you can read the book."

Hari seemed to wilt before his eyes. It was clear she didn’t want to believe him, but something in her must have recognized that he wasn’t lying. "Y-you, you kidnapped…I’m stuck here? Forever?"

"You’ll be happy here in time. I’ll make sure of it," Tom dismissed her distress. A moment later he had to duck to avoid the fist aimed at his face. 

"You bastard! I had friends! Just because you’re so—" Tom’s hand snapped out to capture her wrist after the second missed punch. Hari may have been a phenomenal duelist, but she would need a lot of work before she would be winning any muggle style brawls. 

Distantly, Tom was pleased to note that Hari didn’t seem inclined to curse him anymore despite the obvious rage she was feeling. That thought was pushed to the background though as soon as his skin made contact with hers. 

Bliss, like nothing he’d ever felt before, surged through him. Tom’s heart sped up, pounding double-time, and his breath shuddered out of him on a low moan. He stared down into Hari’s dark green eyes, happy to see that she seemed just as affected as him. Her pupils were dilated, nearly obscuring the emerald of her irises, and her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink. A shiver seemed to run down the length of Hari’s body, and Tom tugged her closer, longing to feel more of her tan skin. 

"You were lonely," he whispered hoarsely. "Isolated. I know you were. I felt it in your soul when my magic called you here."

"Even if I was," she rasped back just as quietly, "you had no right to take me."

"You’re my match. I had every right." 

Hari’s eyes blazed bright with renewed fury, and she ripped herself out of Tom’s grasp, nearly tripping as she backed away from him rapidly. "No. You didn’t," she spat coldly.

Tom stared back at her assessingly. With pleasure like that when they touched, the dark haired boy was sure she would come around quickly. "We’ll need to construct a new identity for you and get you enrolled in Hogwarts. You need school supplies as well. I’ve been saving in the event this ritual worked for the better part of a year now, so we should have plenty of money to get you established."

"Or I could go to Dumbledore. Tell him you took me, and I’m stuck here. I’m sure he’d be very interested in that information."

"You really want to involve that manipulative old fool?" Tom narrowed his eyes.

"As opposed to my kidnapper?"

"Yes, brilliant plan. Tell the only man in the school that absolutely hates me that you were summoned here because you’re a perfect match to my soul. Go ahead, let’s see how helpful he is."

Hari scowled, looking almost petulant, and Tom grinned, knowing he had won this round. 

"And the other teachers? What’s to stop me from going to one of them? None of them hate you."

"If you think they’d keep your status as a dimension hopper secret," Tom shrugged. "That they wouldn’t report you to the ministry or the news. Sure, go ahead."

Hari just glared at him, obviously choosing not to voice what they both knew: that nothing good would come from the world finding out about her circumstances. Ratting out Tom’s most likely highly illegal actions would feel sweet for a moment, but it would be a bit like cutting off her nose to spite her face. Ultimately not worth it. 

"What did you have in mind for this new identity," she conceded defeat, at least for the moment. 

Tom grinned. "Do you speak any other languages?"

"No."

"America then, it’ll have to be. They’ve had some isolated raids by Grindelwald that your family could have died in."

"I have a British accent," she drawled, not sounding the least bit American. 

Tom scowled. "Your parents immigrated from England."

"A strong British accent, not the kind you get just from your parents." 

"You moved there when you were ten. Does that work?" Tom asked, running an exasperated hand through his normally neatly styled wavy chocolate hair. He wanted to move on to the more interesting aspects of her new cover.

Hari nodded, but said, "I want to keep my name."

"You can’t keep Potter. Everyone would think you’re a fraud."

"There are other Potters in the world. It’s not exactly a unique last name."

"Not originating from magical Great Britain, there aren’t. The family’s too small to get away with it. They’d know none of their relatives moved to America. Plus Charlus Potter is a fourth year at Hogwarts right now."

"Fine. I’ll use Evans then."

"That’s not a wizarding surname."

"So?" she huffed.

"Do you want to make this harder on yourself? We need you to be homeschooled to explain why you don’t have school records. The Ministry would never let a mudblood be homeschooled."

"Don’t call them that!" Hari growled.

"What? Mudblood?" Tom sneered. 

"Yes! My mother was muggleborn."

"So? It’s what they’re called."

"So? So she was the finest witch in her year! It’s rude, and biased, and stupid, and I know you’re a prejudiced little twat, but you’re supposed to actually be smart!"

Tom raised one disdainful eyebrow and rolled his eyes, not seeing the point in getting up in arms about one slur when there weren’t even any muggleborns around to be insulted. "Alright, muggleborn. I don’t see why you’re so upset though. It’s not like I would be angry if you derided muggles, and my father’s one."

"You hate your father," she shot back dryly. "I’m pretty sure you murdered him in my world during the winter break of your seventh year."

"Really?" Tom asked, an unholy light entering his eyes at the prospect. "Do you know where he lives?"

"Like I’d tell you," she snorted. 

Tom glared. Fine then, he could be patient. Hari would tell him eventually. Perhaps once she had accepted her place at his side she would even be willing to join him when he exacted his revenge on his worthless father. "Back to the topic at hand. You agree we cannot use Evans for your identity?"

"What do you suggest then?"

Tom wracked his brain for a long moment before a flash of inspiration hit. "Peverell? They’re an old pureblood line thought to have died out. Destitute, so there wouldn’t be any Gringotts vault and blood test to verify, or well refute, your heritage, but they’re a respected line nonetheless. The Potters claim to be descended from them I think."

"So I’m just going to waltz in and claim a direct relation to an extinct family? Because that’s not more suspicious than just going by Potter or claiming to be a muggleborn."

"Ah, but no one really believes they died out, do they? Popular myth has it that the Peverell’s just secluded themselves, became hermits so they could work on raising an army of inferi. Complete hogwash, but enough witches and wizards actually believe it that it won’t be too heavily questioned if a lost Peverell heiress turns up. And it gives you a readymade excuse to be secretive."

"An army of inferi? Of course you would think that’s a good legacy."

"Better than no legacy at all," Tom shot back, then quickly continued before she could give him another lecture on the worthiness of muggleborns. "It makes it even easier to claim you were homeschooled if everyone thinks your family are a bunch of recluses."

"Crazy people you mean."

"They’re not the Blacks."

"No. They’re necromancers. That’s so much better than mere madness." Sarcasm practically dripped from her words.

"Powerful necromancers," Tom countered, like that negated the inherent creepiness.

"And I’m not one, so—"

"Not all family gifts are inherited."

"Gifts!" she scoffed. "They play with dead people!"

"There’s no need to be crude," Tom scowled.

"Oh that offends you. Good to know. The actual acts, those’re fine. But talking about it!"

"Look! The Peverells are the best family to use for your cover. They’re not around to contradict you, but people don’t think they’re gone. It explains the homeschooling, and we can say your parents died in the recent Grindelwald attack in New York, that explosion that completely destroyed two city blocks." 

"So Harisah Lily Peverell? I guess I’d at least get to keep my initials."

"Lily’s your middle name?" Tom asked curiously.

"For my mom," she glared, and Tom sighed. He supposed he had brought this on himself, asking for a challenge. Beneath the frustration though, he felt exhilarated. Tom had a feeling Harisah’s loyalty would truly be something to covet. 

A chilly breeze swept through the burnt clearing, bringing a flurry of snowflakes with it, and for the first time Tom registered that he was shivering faintly. "We should head inside. I’ll sneak you into the castle, and we can go shopping for your school things tomorrow before we talk to Dippet about getting you enrolled."

With that, Tom turned and started walking back towards the school, Hari trailing a few steps behind him. He resisted the urge to reach back and take her hand, to feel that euphoric bliss again. There would be time for that later.


End file.
